Under the Lights (9 page)

Unsettling enough that I break pose and nearly fall on my butt.

In the mirror, I can see Brianna struggling not to laugh as I literally bend over backward to avoid crashing to the ground. I suck a curse back into my lungs, knowing that while Raoul will forgive lateness, he'll throw a total fit if anyone dares disturb the quiet sanctity of the studio. We're not even allowed to wipe off our sweat under his watch. He's almost as psycho as Jade.

Almost.

I get narrowed eyes from Raoul, but he'll never get truly pissed at me because I once snuck him an old sweatband of Liam's. (Our little secret, of course.) I force myself back into position and close my eyes, shutting out the rest of the world, including Brianna Harris.

But I swear, I can still feel her eyes on me.

It's easy enough to look away through the next four poses—they all involve looking in directions other than forward anyway—but when we shift into Tree Pose, our eyes meet again, just for an instant, and I can't help wondering what she's doing here. I've been coming to this class for a year, and I've never once seen her. If she's spying on me again…

I narrow my eyes at the mirror, and now she's the one who startles a little in her pose.
Good
. It's nice to see her be the one caught off guard for once. But the longer I hold my stare, the more I realize she's doing just fine in the sweltering heat, and she knows not to mop up her sweat, and once she's back in pose, she stays put. Actually, she looks a whole lot more graceful than I do. And is that an Om tattooed on the back of her neck, partially concealed by her ponytail?

Maybe she's not just here to spy on me.

Forget about her
, I order myself as we drop into toe stands.
Clear your damn head, Vanessa Park.
So I do. For the rest of the ninety-minute class, I forget about Brianna, and that Josh Chester is a pain in my ass, and that my best friend lives across the country, and that my parents want me to be someone I'm not, and that my career has an uncertain future, and that I need to get my own place. With the exception of the occasional superfast water break, I do nothing but pose, breathe, and sweat.

When it's over, I avoid all eye contact as I give myself a thorough wipe-down. I love the class, but afterward, I always feel gross. It's liberating, sometimes, getting to look that disgusting without worrying about cameras or whatever, but now, of course, Brianna's here, seeing me bathed in sweat, my face a freaking tomato.

I kinda hope she'll just walk out, but no such luck.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she says as she walks over, taking a long sip from the bottle of water in her hand. “And no, before you ask, I'm not here spying for my mother.”

My lips twitch. “I wasn't thinking that,” I lie.

“Oh, yes, you were. But I'm not. I used to go to the five o'clock, but I had to change it up now that I've started the internship with Jade.” A trickle of sweat slides down her forehead, and she swipes it away. “Well, that, and my ex-girlfriend still goes to the five o'clock,” she adds sheepishly.

Ex-girlfriend?
“I thought you had an ex-boyfriend,” I say, then realize how stalker-y that sounds. “I just mean, you mentioned him at the party. The
Zombie Camp
fan.”

“That too,” she says with a grin, then takes another sip of water. “I'm an equal-opportunity leave-relationship-destruction-in-my-wake kind of girl.” She says it like she's just informed me she has no preference between vanilla and chocolate fro-yo, but there's a hint of a challenge in her eyes, like she's waiting for me to judge her. Which just reminds me that she doesn't know me any better than I know her.

“I hope the girlfriend had better taste in movies.” I pat down my face and neck one more time with my towel, then take a long drink.

Her lips quirk up in the corner, and I feel like I've passed some sort of test. “So, is this your usual class?”

“Yup. Raoul and I are buds.”

“I'll bet. What do you usually do afterward?”

“Um, shower?” I gesture down at where sweat has seeped through my…everything, basically.

She laughs. “Probably a good plan.”

It's a good opening to ask if she wants to hang out, but before I can figure out how, she says, “Well, unless
you're showering all day tomorrow, too, are you up for a shopping trip after filming? Jade says you need something new for the exhibit opening Friday night, and I need to buy something that's
not
business-casual. I swear, I've never worn so many pantsuits in my life.”

“Jade has you wearing pantsuits?” It's impossible to imagine punky, quirky Brianna in something so straitlaced, but then again…Jade.

“Jade would have birthed me in a pantsuit if she could have.” Brianna rolls her eyes, which are actually kind of warm in their makeup-free, glasses-free state. “We're talking about a woman who insists I call her by her first name at all times, so that I never slip out of being ‘professional.'”

“Huh. So she really is like that twenty-four hours a day.”

“Seven days a week,” she confirms. “So, are you up for it?”

I think about my conversation with Ally. And I think about the fact that I'm still not sure how much I trust Brianna. And then I think about the fact that, if I say no, I'm gonna have a very long night of stressing ahead.

And I say, “Sure, why not?”

By the end of my first three weeks, we've got two episodes in the can and I can't remember if I've ever worked this hard in my life. I've had to wake up at seven almost every day, and it's killing me. I've barely gone out because I can't stand the hangovers anymore, not to mention that my beer gut was getting a little out of control. I'll be damned if Holloway maintains his rep as the show's “body” while he's basically on vacation in the Valley.

I let myself into Holloway's trailer—which he barely even uses these days—and let out a long, loud groan. I'm tired as balls, and all I want is a shower and a nap before I go out with the guys again tonight. I groan again as I drop onto his couch. Feels like it's been fucking
hours
since I've gotten off my feet.

A frantic knocking sounds at the door, and then I hear, “Liam, are you okay? It sounds like there's an animal dying in there.”

Pushing myself up off the couch, I realize K-drama's on the other side of the door. I swing it open. “Just the party animal that once resided within me,” I say dramatically, leaning against the doorpost. “What's up?”

“What are you doing in here?”

“I need a shower, and the guest stars get lousy digs,” I inform her, raking a hand through my hair. “They really don't appreciate where the true talent lies.”

She rolls her eyes. “How strange of them. But just as well I found you—your agent's lurking around here. I assume she's looking for you to tell you she's had enough of you.”

More likely she's looking for me to nag me to pick a script for once this guest arc's up. “Lemme just shower, and—”

“Is that him?” I stifle a groan as Holly joins Vanessa. “There you are. Did you get that script I sent over?
Wings of Phoenix
?”

“That's filming in Philly, right?” asks Van. “Aren't you banned from there after that whole incident at City Hall?”

“I swear, people have no sense of humor. You'd think they'd be more immune to innocent actor shenanigans, given that
Transformers
filmed there. I'll read it anyway—I'm sure they're over it by now. Probably. I paid for the fire damage, anyway. Or maybe it was the water damage. Whatever it was, I threw money at it.”

Holly exhales sharply. “Meanwhile, everyone seems to think I'm also your publicist and manager. Have you thought about getting an actual publicist?”

“And suppress his natural charm?” Vanessa says sweetly, laughing when I give her the finger.

“Whatever gets me fewer e-mails. Dylan Mackenzie wants to make sure you're still in for the celebrity golf thing next Sunday.”

“Tell him I wouldn't miss it, and ask if his girlfriend will be back in that little argyle skirt.”

“I'll be sure to. Glory Thompson called to confirm your radio interview tomorrow—”

“Reschedule for Thursday. I'm back on set tomorrow.”

“And I confirmed your dentist appointment for Thursday as well.”

I shudder. “Can we reschedule that one for never?”

“Joshua.” Vanessa fixes me with a
look
. “She's not your assistant.”

“Neither are you,” I remind her, “so unless you're going to be helpful…”

She rolls her eyes and leaves, and Holly walks in, closing the door behind her. I still need a shower pretty badly, so I'm hoping we can wrap this up soon. It's hard to get whipped into a frenzy about picking up yet another job with early call times or…anything having to do with Philadelphia, really.

“Any word from Val at Aspen on the fragrance shoot?” I ask.

“I called her this afternoon. She says they're still looking for a female model to pair you with. The one who did their last denim campaign has a fragrance non-compete.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Your mother called. Twelve times. Which is why I'm here.”

Shit.
“My mother called you?”

“Apparently at least one of you thought it was relevant to tell me that you're signed on for a reality show.”

“I'm
not
,” I assure her.
Not until I get desperate.

“Well, she seems to think that you are, as long as you're living in their beach house. You
are
still living there, aren't you?”

I don't say anything. She already knows the answer.

“Why didn't you tell me about this, Josh? I'm your
agent
. Dealing with your work is my job.”

“Because I'm not doing it, and this doesn't count as work. She's just desperate for attention now that her show's been canceled, and this is the only way she can get it. They won't give her the show unless I agree to be on it.”

Holly raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

Statement, not a question. Which means she definitely has a very bad idea brewing right now.

“Don't even think about it, Holly.”

“
You
need to work, Joshua. If you can line something else up, fine, but until you start taking your auditions seriously, I don't know what else to do with you. If you want to keep me on as your agent, you're going to need something to show for your efforts. Even if it's reality TV.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Or, you know, you can just read the
Wings
script and call me when you're done. You nail that audition, there's nothing to worry about.”

Ugh, so
that
was her plan—blackmail me into the stupid audition. I should've guessed. “Yeah. Fine.”

She heads out, but stops in the open doorway. “And Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“Get a publicist.”

It's always been one of my biggest fears that one night I'd be out at a club and realize I'm completely over this shit. I'm not quite there yet, but right now, buzzed on drinks I've had a billion times before, chick
in my lap who looks exactly like the last three who've been in my lap, I'm pretty fucking bored.

I have to adjust the girl to reach the phone in my pocket, but I'm pretty sure she's too blitzed to care. She's been alternating between touching my junk and tossing back shots for I don't even know how long, and if she's noticed that I'm not paying her any attention, I can't tell.

Of course, Holloway's not even here. He's off at James Gallagher's in-fucking-credible estate in Napa, getting wooed for yet another huge-budget movie. Because locking in the Lassiter role wasn't enough. For someone who hates attention, he's getting a shit-ton of it all of a sudden; I can't even remember the last time I saw him for more than five minutes. I know he's just keeping himself busy to keep his mind off the fact that Ally's gone, but fuck, where did my best friend go?

I whip out my phone and text him.
R u back yet? Bored.

His response comes back thirty seconds later.
No, I'm not back. I'm in the Gallaghers' guest house, hiding.

Well. Whatever's going on there sounds more interesting than my night. “Sweetheart, time to go,” I tell the chick in my lap, pushing her up lightly. Then I flag down the waitress, tell her to surprise me, and text Liam back.
Imma need more than that.

He's got a 25yo wife w/busy hands. Groped me @ dinner, grabbed my ass on the way out, and now she wants to meet up in the hot tub.

Yet another thing to hashtag #LiamProblems. The guy gets more unwanted potential ass than anyone I know, and it's completely wasted on him.
She hot?